Dying
by Nutella-Angie
Summary: so a Redfield could live.


**The reason for this is boredom. That, and I'm really tired right now but the only thing I could think of doing was writing, so this little one-shot was born. Plus, I love Resident Evil – but Resident Evil 6 was a huge disappointment for me. :/ **

**It looked so good and then, poof, once it came out, it was so terrible – and difficult – that I got bored after ten minutes and went go play Assassin's Creed. I'll be honest, though, I really liked Piers and I thought it was only appropriate to write a little tribute to him, so enjoy this really short one-shot! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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It was inevitable. Despite what he had been told several times – that he was going to survive – he didn't believe it. Somehow, he had known all along he wasn't going to be coming home. It sounded ridiculous, even to his own ears, but he knew he wasn't even going to be buried in a casket with the flag of his beloved country – the United States, the land of the free – draped over his casket in honor of his heroism. To be buried with full honors and a twenty-one gun salute seemed almost impossible for him, because he knew he wasn't coming home, dead or alive.

He was considered a hero back home. More like exterminator of the undead masses who were mere products of a viral outbreak – the same viral outbreak that took his life and added it to the body count as well. He wasn't stupid. He knew the difference between the two.

But he wasn't selfish. No, that was the last thing he was. Even with the loss of his faith over the course of the war, he hadn't become selfish. If he was selfish, wouldn't the Captain be in a casket right now, with him marching down the cemetery sidewalk with the rest of the escort platoon, but it hadn't turned out that way. Fortunately, the Captain was luckier than most. He scoffs at the memory of his past actions, like it was a good thing that he had died.

Yet, he still felt selfish. He was probably seen as selfish too, but he could care less.

It was suicide in a way, but at the time, he hadn't been thinking. Logic had left him a long time ago, with only blind rage fueling his decisions that resulted in his untimely death.

Perhaps rage had always fueled his decisions, but it had probably been disguised as last-minute decisions and desperate logic while he had still retained the last few shreds of his sanity. Now he was just a madman. A _dead _madman.

"Why did you do it?" The familiar voice from before asked, as innocently curious as before.

He scoffed. "For the future," was his response. It didn't matter that he died – no, he was only a pawn in this hellish chess game he had participated in – it only mattered that the Captain had made it out alive and would be able to continue to carry on in the fight against bioterrorism.

A bright white light temporarily blinded him before it cleared as quickly as it came, granting Piers his vision before he could complain at the temporary loss of it, revealing a snow-covered field, probably once abundant with beautiful flowers, now reduced to nothing but a cold, barren plot of land.

A young man with red hair – around the same age as him – got up from where he was sitting on a snow-covered boulder, and walked to him, holding out his hand in friendship. A look of understanding graced his features, and Piers knew this young man, still a boy in so many ways, had lost his life before it was time for him to go, much like him. It was clear to Piers that something had happened – something had killed him. This young man hadn't died from natural causes, much like he hadn't.

"I understand your motives for injecting yourself in the underwater base," he said.

Even though he detected no sarcasm in his words, Piers scoffed.

"Did you, now?" He asked, cold, hard sarcasm lacing his voice.

The young man nodded. "I'm Steve Burnside, and I knew Claire Redfield."

_The Captain's younger sister._

Piers took Steve's outstretched hand and shook it, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. He looked down, and saw he was still dressed in his BSAA uniform, without all of the blood and extra flesh sticking out of his body from the side effects of the virus. Piers resisted the urge to scoff. Guess Heaven didn't give out free clothes, even if you were dead, but at least he didn't look like a hideous freak.

He looked up at Steve again. Understanding shone brightly on his face, which only served to heighten his already soaring guilt and panic.

"You did it to protect somebody dear to you, and I understand that." He said.

Steve smiled at him, and suddenly a heavy burden was lifted from Piers' shoulders and he no longer felt guilty or selfish for his actions. Breathing suddenly became a whole lot easier.

And like Steve, dying so a Redfield could live didn't seem like a sin anymore.

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**So, this was a little one-shot I attempted to write just by listening to some music, which helped influence this story and the plot behind it. I know that Piers and Steve have never met, but I feel like there is a connection between the two of them, since they both knew one of the Redfields – Steve knew Claire and Piers knew Chris – and how they both died while the Redfields survived. That's just my two cents on this.**

**I really hope I portrayed both Piers and Steve in character. I apologize for any OOC-ness... :/**

**Songs: "What Have We Done" and "Inside Our Scars"**

**Artist: The Veer Union**

**Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are well appreciated!**


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